


Dragon's Bond

by Hikaryy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Romance Novel, Angst, Bottom John Watson, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Dragons, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt John Watson, Inspired by Novel, M/M, Possessive Sherlock, Sexual Fantasy, Top John Watson, Top Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:28:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27185194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hikaryy/pseuds/Hikaryy
Summary: The hair was sandy with silvery tones. His face absolutely did not convey the age of gray. In addition, under the sun they still gave off golden reflections of a distant past.He didn't look tired, but the stress was evident in the hurried ways as well as the worry. No he seemed more than stressed. He looked haunted. It was certainly not what Sherlock expected but his ruthless instincts screamed at him fiercely that this was his thief.He ran a finger along the shape moving away from Tesco, then slammed his hand hard on the table and crumpled the paper into his hand.-I got you.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	Dragon's Bond

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Dragon's Bound](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/704977) by Thea Harrison. 
  * Inspired by [Dragon's Bound](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/704980) by Thea Harrison. 



> Hello!!  
> I decided to transport in Johnlock’s version the novel “Dragon Bound” by Thea Harrison.
> 
> I finished to read it and there are almost 200 analogies with “The Hobbit” and all the rest so the inspiration caught me from the first chapter.  
> Obviously i will make some changes but also many sentences that, said by Sherlock would be really credible. The same for John.

John Watson was been blackmailed, and it was all his fault. He has found himself committing a crime that anyone would compare to a suicidal mission, including his own.  
Knowing that it was its fault from the start, didn’t make it any easier. Still he couldn’t believe that he had been so poor in judgment.

Or maybe yes …

Six months, a pretty face and two celestial eyes were enough to make him forget everything he had learned on the battlefield in Afganisthan, about survival.  
Such a sucky situation that even his sister, addicted to alcholism for years, was better in rehab. The only way would have been carry a gun on his head and pull the trigger.  
John even had one. But he was already considered doomed, so why jump the gun and be a coward?

The sound of a horn startled him. He moved away from the road and ended up on a little London Street, lined only by Chinese shops and restaurants: Chinatown.  
People on street walked with the same tranquility as every day, even if it meant pay more attention to the cell phone that to where put their feet.

John rested for a moment on the wall of a recenly opened sushi restaurant, to rest his leg, even if it was to be considered the last of his problems; after a very hard week that seemed never to end, he committed a crime. He had robbed one of the most dangerous creature on Earth. An entity whose lineage terrified anyone who heard its mention.  
And it was almost done; John had a few more things to do: meet one last time the one who put him in that situation and then, he might as well have had a hysterical laugh of a few minutes, then thinking of the best place to hide himself.

He crossed the street with a quick walk, brandishing solidly his walking stick, that he never left: not since they gave it to him at the exits of the hospital in Kabul, where he had spent his convalescence due to the injured shoulder, pierced by a hostile bullet.  
Needless to say that he rejected any cure simplified by the magic of the sorcerers healers who employed in the army. It was a concession not allowed to all, apart from sons of good family or types recommended by some prominent office. (In John’s case, Major Sholto)  
As a medical, John preferred the sorcerers implemented their difficult practices for those who really need it.

He never wanted anything to do with anything having to do with magic. He considered it a useless shortcut, that could bring years of study and hard work into the shadows for those who really worked to get a life.

And yet here he is, in front of the entrance of the _Lucky Cat’s Emporium,_ one of the many concentrates in the Magic District; shops selling enchantments and curses, unmarked since dark arts were still evaluated simply “against morality” and then, for long mass, impunity and legal.

Lucky Cat’s Emporium were simple and differed; the whole area was full of buildings, kiosks and even passages for bunkers.They offered readings of tarot cards, psychic consultations, fetishes and spells, wholesalers and retailers, importers, sellers of false or appalling real goods.  
John limped in its direction finding himsel in front of the newly painted ruby-red facade. The door and the moulding of glass windows, were painted of a yellow ochre. He stepped back to lock up; metal letters made up the rusty sign. Years ago, his sister Harriet had told him about the old lady she bought the narcotic for her drunken caress from. It had kept her good for a few weeks. His old friends too, Bill Murray, once at the pub said that woman had one of the talents he best perceived in such a frail human.

He looed his reflection in the window, the image of a weary man and, who know, always haunted by bad luck. After inhaling deeply, he crossed the threshold,  
In contrast to the city street that sourrended it the interior of the store looked like a quiet and clean place. He identified fragile items that covered whole shelves, primatic beams of light on the walls created by crystals composed in a glass cabin, hit hard by the sun’s rays. The only person there was a woman with oriental features, forward with the years but with royal bearing.

-You dont have to go in ther!! – screamed suddenly a female voice from the outside. It was followed by that of a man: - Get out of there before it’s too late!

John looked over the window. About twenty people were across the road with different billboards and they seemed very furious. On the posters were the words: MAGIC= HELL’S ROAD or GOD WILL SAVE US or OLDEST BREEDS = HORSESHIT

Another humans persistent in their rationality Oldest Breed’s existence. It’s possible that after all those centuries they still didn’t realize that they lived with it every day since the Victorian Age? All those revisionist histories had the same credibility as those who didn’t believe in the Jewish genocide. John could agree that magic was not needed to live, but, from the way he imposed himself on the care of the army, he had resigned himself that there were individuals who didn’t live without it.

He went away from the window and from the look of the demonstrators: - That’s creazy! – he muttered.  
-City Ordinance works in both ways – said the woman behind the counter with the voice full of outrage – Magic Shops need to stay in a certain district and demonstrators to twenty meters. They can’t cross the street or enter inside.

John blinked perplexed: - That must be exhausting to see them lurking outside and shouting those things. Can’t the police drive them away if you make a complaint?  
Her face continued to remain relaxed: - Is no different from my country. Here, at least, i can do job without risk of barbarism. With not prohibited protective spells – her expression became more and more curious while checking the customer carefully – But … how could this be …? There’s something in you ….  
Shit, he didn’t think of it. Could she feel?  
-No, i think you are wrong – interrupted her with a face without emotion and a touch of discomfort.

The risk of losing a possible gain should have upset her. In fact the woman’s ways came back professional: - I sorry – said with sweet voice – For your leg i have herbal remedies, muscolar sedative …  
-Oh, no. I dont need anything for my leg – reply John fighting with the need to lean – This shop was recommended to me by friendly sources – told her in syncopated tone – I have to buy a binding spell.

The old lady’s detached attitude disappeared: - Oh – her long eyelid went down – It’s not easy as it looks.  
-It’s not supposed to be elaborate. They told me your service cost, so they should be among the best in the area. I have a lot of things to do and if you want i can pay you the pressing need. Because, no offence, but it was really a bad day and i’m not in the mood to go around. It just has to be serious.

The woman’s eyes shone with mocking light: - I do not make black magic. If someone takes an oath of his own free will, the bond falls under contractual and judical obligations. I can do this.

They concluded the deal in less than an hour. On the advice of the woman, John snuck out the back door. He feels his pocket ligihter, without an abundant hunk of money anymore, but he thought it was worth in a related situation.  
-So good luck to you – she saluted him bending the body against the doorframe – If you need something else, you can come back any time you want.  
John thanked her from the bottom, since she didn’t insist on his name, understanding he couldn’t give information.

He closed the inside pocket better, where the spell was stuck wrapped in a tissue. It gave off an energy in a relaxed way. Maybe, once the deal with Mary was done, he could have caught his breat after days and days. He let himself influenced by hope.  
Then, heard the most terrible sound of his life: he had escaped from bombing, injured in the middle of a shooting, evacuated collapsing buildings … but nothing could compare to what was manifested at that moment in London’s streets: it began as a low vibration, but so deep and powerful to shake his bone marrow. He slowed down in front of a bus stop with other pedestrians.

They made shadow with their hands to see better and were looking around while the tremor grew and became a roar that shook roads and buildings.  
It was like a hundred trains running, a set of hurricanes, it was as if Mount Olympus was exploding like Vesuvius on Pompeii.

John fell to his knees and threw the arms on his head, followed by others accompanied with shouts. Others ones still looked with wide eyes in search of disaster. Others ran away panicked. The crossing intersection were plenty of car accident having the drivers lost control and and collided each other in a chain reaction.

Then the roar ended. The buildings stopped. The sky cloudless was serene, but surely London wasn’t.  
Alright John thought standing and moaning with trembling legs. He wiped the sweat from his brow and remained indifferent to the chaos that surrounded him.

He knew what, or rather who caused that terrible sound. And also why.

John Watson had survived the war, had blood on his hands many times to ensure it wasnt his. The scar on the shoulder was still healing and he still bloody fought against the fake limp’s cause as much as he fought against his origins that chased him wherever he went.

But this time, for his life, he should have run a race and that roar was just the starting shot. And if there was a God he would have been the referee who had just shouted the “Go!”  
-  
It’s scientifically proven that it’s impossible remember the day of birth. But he knowed his lineage was born with the solar system. From a trascendent glow and a huge wind called by modern research “The Never-Ending Flight”. He had came out when the universe had already been formed and immediately became tied up with Earth.

He suffered from hanger and was taught to hunt and feed.  
He started to have opinions: he liked the blood glushing out from the meat highlighting admiration and study secondo to the principle of eat it. Instead he didn’t like to sleep, prefering night to launch into the air and exploit updraft to rise more and more, feeling again The Never –Ending Flight’s rapture. The first flight fo everyone.

When he discovered the curiosity, new species took over in the mass: the ones that became known as Oldest Breeds who tended t o cluster around or inside size of other lands: places full of magic where time and space had fused during land formation. The magic had the same taste as blood, just that it was warm golden like sunshine.

He was told how the race learned their own language listening, even in secret, from humans. And these ones had in turn different words used for them.

He developed his ability to change form without being taught. In this way he was able to creep among humans appearing as them and studying them closer. They extracted from the earth objects that his bloodline craved more than anything; gold, silver, glittering crystal and precious gems, modelling them into creations of great beauty. Greedy by nature, he collected everything that attracted his gaze. He created secret lairs where he collected his belongings. He didn’t like roll waterfalls of treasures found over the years. All he needed was the idea of owning them.  
The heap of his possessions grew to include ancient writings about Oldest Breeds and human beings, because sometimes, he believed the books were an invention even more precious than any other treasure. He became interested in modern science, chemistry, philosophy, astronomy, alchemy.

In the 19th century, that was a period when his clan landed in England for settle there definitively, he met a famous english scientist with whom he spoke about how much human society had in common with him. The difference was in the fact that his experience was concentrated in a single entity. With his own kind he embodied all stages simultaneously; beast and predator, wizard and aristocratic, brutality and intellect. He wasn’t sure he had acquired emotions like humans ones.

Certainly hadn’t acquired their morality. Maybe his biggest finish line had been understanding of the law. And also his strange appreciation; so strange to help its defenders to keep it solid thanks to his unique knowledge and capacity.

Over the decades he had been called The Great Beast, The Monster, The Evil One, The Demon.  
A Dragon.  
He kept many of them remembering with pleasure Wyvern, Naga, the winged snake Quetzalcoatls, for the Aztecs, God Mehen for the Egyptians.

For creatures to small and miserable, he was the huge Smaug. This was the name he took with him until the birth of the new world, where for the first time he didn’t get a name, he chose it!

Sherlock Holmes.

Peculiar, uncommon and brillant.

Just like him.

\----

When Sherlock discovered stolen, he jumped in the sky with great drives by his giant wings, the opening of which approached that of a eight-seat Cessna Jet. Modern life had become messy, so he usually concentrated fly’s power to prevent planes or to draw local traffic. His position, among the most ancient and powerful was the perfect key for adapting everyone to his wishes.

That time he wasn’t so polite: he was blind with rage, turned violent by the unbelief, by the awareness of being screwed. That his intelligence had been offended. His angry roar’s sound stabs the skies as if with his sharp claws had mutilated the imaginary enemy. He held in his inner paws something fragile and almost unthinkable even for him.

A piece of piper ridicolous and senseless. In a fit of rage he flew until he comes to his senses and returned to think.

**_Rough Day?_ **

There he is, punctual as usual. The voice annoyingly calm and indifferent echoed in his head. As always the big brother was aware of all that was going on in the world.  
To him in the first place.

Mycroft Homes boasted the gift of diplomacy which Sherlock never managed to achieve. Older than only seven years, he was a mature man, expert and capable to control enough to always enjoyed higher authority in society that became increasingly turbulent over the centuries. Sherlock wouldn’t admit that Mycroft’s talent was useful to keep him on track in tempestuous times. He prefered to talk about how he would incinerate him properly. Sooner or later.

He grinds his teeth: **_I’m fine_**

_**Doesn’t look like. I haven’t heard a mess like that since Zodiac escaped from under you.** _

Somewhat similar situation, Sherlock had to recognize. Someone who cheated him careless of what he was challenging. He had failed with that killer and answered the question in the door of his Mind Palace tagged “The Hell with it!”  
It wouldn’t be the same this time.

**_There was a robbery_** , he finally admitted growling.

A little break, then: **_Funny! Humanity is really evolving disproportionately!_**

Mycroft’s tone concealed a sense of satisfaction and this only increased Sherlock’s furry: **_A thief, Mycroft! every word was a roar He came in Whitechapel’s lair and took something that belongs to me!_**

**_Like a girl of easy virtue entering in the hole of the ripper._ **

Besides the irony, Sherlock recognised in his brother the understanding of gravity while process it slowly. It was an unimaginable crime. It never happened beofore in all thousand years they had lived. It was impossible for everyone to find the treasure, that was divided in more parts of the city hidden to the human eye.

Who knows how many of them knew to walk on it every day. Who knows how many would have dared. Today this question could be asked. But no one knew where the real Sherlock’s treasure was, except for him.

Having passed beyond all powerful veil and repulsion spells, more ancient than egyptian mummies, the thief had managed to overcome barriers and locks. And what’s worse he snuck out in the same way.

The warning had been a strange distress grown all afternoon, that had forced Sherlock to leave his untouchable experiments to go check on. He understood his lair had been violated before he reached it.

But still he didn’t believe it, in the middle of the outlet, havind found out the irrefutable evidence of the theft, with somehthing else that brought the situation to an even more absurd level.

He veered sharply to get the course that would bring him back to the city. Mycroft was still “online” but was silent.  
 _ **You have to find him asked at that point his younger brother Do everything you can. Use every means even if you have to resort to the magic of those three-bit magicians that you**_

**_You know the other responded I had the odd impression you’d come back and ask me for favors sooner or later. But i certainly didn’t expect it to come out in similar circumstances and, even less, while i’m in the middle of negotiations for …_ **

**_Put it all away!_** Sherlock roared _ **Other jobs can wait perfectly, they will not dare contradict you. Pass the tasks to Lestrande and your friend sitting in Downing Street. I take care of informing the dregs.**_

**_You know, if you kept this attitude so highfalutin, even without similar funding, you’d look real good sitting in Downing Street._ **

_**I don’t need that.** _

**_We’re not the only ones people fear. And we are not longer granted any freedom. Not anymore.him_ **

**_We’ll see_ **

Sherlock perceived other telepathic conversations but no one trying to get directly in his.

He tought that the brother had already started to give instructions and then was going to leave him: ** _One last thing stopped him Make it clear! I don’t want any harm done to the thief and or be killed by someone other than myself. It’s not allowed to anyone. So choose well who you hire._**

**_As you wish. I’ll leave you the fun like always._ **

That said, the communication was interrupted causing him a dizziness.

That’s why i prefer to text.

An estimate that only software-implemented inventions had granted him.

Therefore he planed to land on the wide landing platform, above the attic of his apartment in Baker Street. A comfortable place, among ordinary people, without servants who interrupt his concentration, apart the mistress of the house that Sherlock didn’t include among humans to despise, admiring her mentality and a tip of sadism.

Touching down he assumed his human form, that of a big man with a high and slender figure, white and bright skin and dark curls. The golden reptilian eyes changed in pupils with an unspeakable color.

He opened his right fist where he had wolled the piece of pieper. Didn’t mention it to Myrcroft as not give him other material of mockery. He bring the note to the nose and inspired. The callligraphy suggested a male figure and the scent reminded him the hot desert sand awakening inside him all the deepest instincts.

Stood still, with eyes closed, concentrated, going to search in his own drawers of collective memory. There was something in that scent. Something that came from a long time now. If only he could remember.

He had lived so long, his mind had been able to gather a great amount of memories he had considered important for the future. Unfortunately there were too many. It would need days to find the right one.

He struggled more, thinking about an elusive time when the sun was younger and there was the green of a deep foresta round, with a heavenly fragrance.

The thin thread that would carry him to the memory broke too soon. A rumble of frustration roared in his chest.

He opened his eyes and imposed on himlsef not to thear the piece of piper he was clutching.

Only then he thought he didn’t say to Mycroft even what was stolen. His underground lairs were composed of caves on caves, with so much wealth that every member of his bloodline would envy.

Treasures of past and present empires: artifacts considered lost by scienze, miniature portraits, shining jewels dating back to the Roman Period, Egyptian scarabs, Greeks shields, Syrian statues, Persian gems, Chinese jade, spanish riches found in sunken relics.

The last additions were modern coins. But the desire to increase them had diminished in time, with new hobbies to satisfy his boredom.

But his obsessive careful for details, the precise memory of every single piece and the instinct were drive him in the exact spot where something had been touched.

The thief had taken a gem by the size of a nail discovered in the ruins of a village between the Mountains of Giant in Poloand, destroyed by the bombs of war.

And had left something in change of the stolen. He had placed it on the top of the pile of coins from which the gem stood out. It was a note written o a piece of piper with a steadly hand. A message wrapped around an offering:

“I’m sorry “ it said. Theft was a violation of the privacy, an act of impudence and disrespect. And it wasn’t just … absurd. Disconcerting. Sherlock, blind with rage, called it the oldest sin that he could remember.  
He looked the note again “ I’m sorry i had to take your gem. Here’s another one in return”

And he really did it! He had left another stone, which should have served as an offer, even bigger, suspendend on a chain belonged probably to a lady with a taste for elegance.

A corner of the Sherlock’s mouth cured and this surprised him. He had something totally new in front of him. Something big … and damn interesing.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope i made it better, despite having changed many things:
> 
> 1) In the original book, the stolen treasure is a simple penny but here, also to remind Arkenstone, i preferred it to be something more precious.
> 
> Being myself italian i’m trying to translate as best i can the chapters i already published on the italian site EFP
> 
> If there is someone who’d like to help me with translation i would be very happy ^^


End file.
